


(mourn the years before) i got carried away

by DoctorFitzy (KittooningMalijah)



Series: Bruises Verse [4]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canonical Character Death, Gen, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Introspection, Leo Fitz Feels, Leo Fitz is Holden Radcliffe's Son, Past Character Death, Therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-18 14:09:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29610597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KittooningMalijah/pseuds/DoctorFitzy
Summary: The story of how "Fitz" became "Leo."
Relationships: Leo Fitz & Holden Radcliffe, Leo Fitz & Leo Fitz's Mother, Leo Fitz & Thomas Ward, Leo Fitz/Jemma Simmons (mentioned)
Series: Bruises Verse [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/696924
Comments: 4
Kudos: 2





	(mourn the years before) i got carried away

**Author's Note:**

> I joked on twitter that this wasn't technically a "fanfic" but 12k words of meta about my own AU interspersed with canon dialogue... and that is the closest thing I can come up with to describe that.
> 
> I also originally intended for this to be a fic more inspired by marjorie by Taylor Swift (you'll see why), but I ended up listening to I Wanna Get Better (the cover by Against the Current and the Ready Set) on repeat while writing the conclusion last night, and I think that's a little obvious, too.
> 
> **WARNINGS** : mentions of self-harm, references to major (canon) character death, general themes of depression and anxiety and grief

For a long time, he thought he’d known exactly who he was. 

Dr. Leopold James Fitz was an engineer, a SHIELD agent, equally in love with both his work and the woman he called his partner in and out of the lab. He had a wonderful mother and an absent excuse for a father who provided nothing but DNA and bad memories. His work was dangerous, but he could trust the people he did the job with, because they cared about him just as much as he cared about them, because they were his  _ family  _ after the one he grew up with was so small. 

Then, one by one, all of those things started to fall apart. And so did he. 

-

The first thing to fall apart was his  _ family, _ and mostly his idea of it. Between his team and his blood, he'd always had a pretty good idea of what family meant, to him. Family was made up of the people who stuck around, the people who offered support when times got hard and knew that he would offer the same shoulder right back to them if the tables were turned. It was trust and compromise and genuine love rather than obligatory shows of affection.

It was something he could count on, even he couldn't count on anything else.

His idea of family's slow crumble started with his team. It didn't fall all at once, and at first he couldn't even tell that it was falling.

He knew that it hurt, when he watched Ward hit the button that would send them falling into the ocean, when he watched Jemma walk out of the base with the claim that she was visiting her family, when Bobbi and Mack turned out to be working for someone else, when Lincoln died and Daisy walked away from them all. The pillar that held up part of him cracked and crumbled, but not enough to discourage him, not enough to fall. No, his idea of family was stronger than that, strong enough to make him let his guard down, even when he knew he shouldn't.

It was strong enough that he still had room for people in his life every time he got hurt. He was still willing to welcome people in and call them his family - Hunter and Bobbi, Trip, Radcliffe. When he lost every one of them, too, the cracks widened, and the pillar started to fall.

**(** _ "you've been like a son to me." _

_ "yeah, that's why this sucks."  _ **)**

Over the course of slowly losing the family he'd found, he thought he’d gained part of the one he’d lost. In the Framework, there had been a semblance of a reunion, something more than the ten years of memories he’d rather repress. It wasn’t  _ better, _ by any means, but it was  _ more.  _ And, for a while, those were the same thing. 

The hurt and suffering that came from the new memories of Alistair and his entire new life didn’t seem so bad, because he’d already been through worse. He’d been abandoned, and left behind, and pushed away, and pushed around, and everything else seemed so...  _ inconsequential.  _ He’d survived worse, and he wouldn’t be scared away by a few rough edges. They were the price to pay to have his family, people who wouldn't move on without him, anymore.

After that experience, he knew he was wrong. Family wasn't  _ just _ the people who stuck around and let him come along, not when they weren't even supportive of him on top of that. Family  _ could _ consist of the people who were consistently around him, who happened to run in his circles, who included him in their life endangering plans, but it didn't have to. It could include people who  _ cared, _ who made sure he was okay, who worked to protect him instead of putting his life in danger - or at least pretended to check up on him afterwards.

**(** _sometimes, if he was left alone with his thoughts for too long, he realized he had that in the framework, too. he could look at the other life he'd had and see a woman who cared, even when he didn't deserve it. he'd done so many cruel things in that life, too many to count, but she'd loved him despite that, despite who he'd been raised to be. she'd been his support system when things got hard, when the family forged in blood proved to be more of a disappointment than he'd ever imagined. she was his family when no one else dared to get close enough._ **)**

His idea of what  _ family _ meant had to change, and for a little while, it really did begin and end with blood.

-

It only took one drink for him to switch over to something nonalcoholic for the rest of the night, the events of his morning still fresh in his mind. For what it was worth, his drinking companion didn't seem to notice, still happily talking about his date from the weekend before.

There was no difference between that night and any other Thursday, not really. Not in Thomas' behavior, at the very least. He was always a little loud after a couple drinks, a little enthusiastic, took up a little more space. It was kind of nice, in a way. It meant Leo didn't have to do it himself. He could be smaller, careful, quiet, and let the world pass by his safe little bubble that he'd built around himself.

"Alright, Fitzy, fess up. What's with the bubbles? Normally, you're three beers in, by now." He hadn't even realized that his friend had paused in his story, let alone been staring at the carbonated soda in front of him, until his words shook him out of whatever haze had fallen over the bar. Or, not the bar, just him, the same not-quite-there feeling he'd had that morning. Only, during drinks, he wasn't alone. "Did your famous Scottish tolerance finally fade? You ate first, right?"

Leo turned his gaze back down toward his glass, carefully avoiding the edge of the sweater he'd tugged on before work. It was warm, and thick enough to protect him from most touch when he wasn't comfortable with it, even from his closest friend. It was one of his  _ complicated _ days, in terms of his recovery.

"I can't get drunk, tonight. Alcohol's a blood thinner, and I, uh... I had to make an appointment, before I came. It'll be better for everyone if I take it easy."

He could feel it, the worry suddenly thick in the air, the not so subtle gaze that flicked toward his sweater covered wrists. Maybe the bandage he'd wrapped that morning had started to peek out from the wollen shield, or his own avoidance was enough of an indication of why, exactly, he had to set up a last minute appointment with his therapist, but there was no changing the moment, now. Thomas knew exactly what had happened that morning, or at least enough of it.

"Are you okay? Should we even be here, or-?"

"I'm  _ fine." _ Leo was quick to cut him off, shaking his head and hesitating for a moment before taking a deep breath. He couldn't get worked up, not if he actually wanted to worry to stop, and especially not  _ because _ of the worry. It would ruin what was left of his day, and it wasn't going to be all that great to begin with. "It was just a bad morning. Relapses happen. This isn't the first time, and unfortunately, it might not be the last. It's something I'll have to move forward from."

There was a moment of quiet between them, and then a slow sigh that meant the concern wasn't going away. "Let's get you into a cab, or something. I'll make arrangements for your car. Let me just close out our tab."

When he put up a hand to wave down the bartender, Leo tried to reach out to grab his arm and stop him. Even if the day had started bad, it had been getting  _ better,  _ however slowly, and the usual routine that came with hearing ridiculous stories at the bar had been helping that. Acting as though life could still go on and proceed as normal, even when he was having a bad day, was part of moving forward. A slip up didn't mean he was any less worthy of the things that made him happy.

"No, Tommy, wait-"

"Put your coat on. We'll get you home and turn on a movie." The words were enough to make him pause, too stunned to do anything that would even slow his friend from paying for their drinks. Usually,  _ going home _ meant an end to their night, meant being alone and trying to navigate the waves of his changing mood with nothing but his own head to guide him through. What was being implied was nothing like that.

Leo hesitated, taking a slower breath before letting himself be pulled to his feet by a gentle hand at his elbow. The fingers were careful, avoiding where his layers hid both old and new scars while turning his body so he was facing the door. After that, taking steps was easy, his friend's steady hands moving to his shoulders to guide him out into the cooler air.

The storm that raged every day was a familiar one, but that didn't make it any less scary. Some days were less intense than others. Some days were a hurricane. For the most part, he had learned the ins and outs of it, how to fend off the howling winds and roaring water until he was alone and could let his ship crack and break. He couldn't ever sail out of it, not when it was such a deep part of him, but sometimes, he could find the eye of it, the part in the middle where things were calm instead of dangerous.

For the first time, he actually felt like he had someone who could help him get there, instead of being abandoned to do it on his own.

-

With the life he'd chosen, Fitz had known that every choice would require a sacrifice.

Skipping grades to get his degree early meant losing the opportunity to enjoy what was left of his childhood. Attending the SHIELD academy meant leaving his home and his mother behind. Staying with SHIELD, even just in the lab, meant giving up the chances he had to visit home as often as he would have liked. Following Jemma into the field meant losing out on all of the  _ maybes _ he could have considered, and any trips home he could have hoped for indefinitely. Over the years, his job had asked for things from him, and he'd given everything so willingly that he never even thought to hesitate.

All of the sacrifices he made were worth it. They had to be, considering the fate of the world was at stake at every left turn.

When he was young, between the school that didn't keep his attention and the father he couldn't impress, books about the things he was  _ actually _ interested in were his only real escape. Hours had been spent in his room, sometimes with a flashlight under the covers of his bed, reading about machines and how they worked, how technology had developed over the years, how it could  _ continue _ to develop. It was far more interesting than anything he was being taught in school, and if no one wanted to be friends with the weird smart kid in class, then that was only the first sacrifice of many.

After Alistair walked away and his intense interest in science caught the eye of people who could actually do something about it, it became the thing that set him free. There were no more classes that were too simple to interest him, no more looks from the far side of the lunch room while he sat at a table by himself, no more trying to pretend that not having friends didn't hurt like hell. He could throw himself into science, and talk to people who understood what he was saying, and  _ enjoy _ the conversations.

He fit in more with the adults at university than anyone he'd ever met his own age, and as long as he didn't let himself linger on that thought for very long, everything was fine.

From university, to the academy, to SciOps, to the Bus, and beyond, he was the scientist. Everything was an experiment, including the relationships he did or didn't pursue, romantic or platonic or otherwise. His life was a series of hypotheses with little to no positive results, and it wasn't until he stepped away from it all that he realized the truth. Every sacrifice he'd made, everything he'd given to his work in the hope that this part of him would reap rewards and make it all worth it, had never been given willingly at all.

**(** _ if he were to look at all of the things he thought he chose to give away and all of the things that were stolen from him in the pursuit of the life he had, the lists would be identical. the worst part was that, after a while, the sacrifices he thought he made weren't worth it. there was no happy light at the end of the tunnel, only giving and giving and giving for nothing in return.  _ **)**

When it came down to it, his dedication to science had taken from him more than it had given. It had taken his family away in the form of his visits home to see his mother. It had taken his youth from him, between the years he should have spent  _ being a child _ and the years after that that should have been spent discovering himself. It had taken away illusions, both when he watched his own invention being used to kill someone he'd once considered a friend by someone he still wanted to consider family, and when the Framework showed him  _ exactly _ what he'd been missing when Alistair walked out. Working for SHIELD may have been a part of him, potentially the  _ largest _ part of him, for so long, but it was a thief, not a mistress.

The first thing he did after leaving SHIELD with nothing more than his bag and the clothes on his back was start to reclaim everything his work had taken away. He went back to Scotland and got to visit his mother for the first time in years. He came to terms with the fact that illusion and reality were so intertwined that sometimes it would be hard to tell the difference. He moved forward with the few things that had been left to him after the years that he had taken away from under his nose.

-

"Mr. Radcliffe! Look what I found!"

Leo lifted his head at the shout from across the school's small field, looking at the leaf one of his students was holding up. They only had another twenty minutes to finish finding materials for their project, and he'd been collecting his own samples to study and put together an example with when he was interrupted. Well,  _ interrupted _ wasn't quite the word, not when his main job was to be there to help the children in his care. The sacrifice of his time to be there to support them and their learning five days a week was one he made  _ very _ willingly. "Let me take a look."

Taking long steps through the somewhat overgrown grass, he gently took the leaf offered to him from softer, more innocent hands. Over the few years he'd been teaching science in the rainy town he was happy to call home, he hadn't seen many students who  _ weren't  _ interested in what he was teaching, and those who weren't could be swayed by a different topic or a different way of doing things. By the time the end of the year came around and they were working on the projects that would show what they'd learned over the course of a few terms, everyone was usually enthusiastic, but it was still nice to see them excited and ready to learn during the first major project of the year.

The leaf between his fingers was red and orange, one that had fallen to the ground during the wind the area had gotten over the weekend, and very nearly perfect for the comparisons they would be making over the course of the week. He'd already given out the instructions before they left the classroom, along with the worksheets they would be filling out once they found all their samples, and he'd had plenty of enthusiastic shouts of  _ Mr. Radcliffe _ and  _ Mr. R _ about leaves and flowers and anything else they could find during the near hour they'd been outside. It never got old.

"Can I use this one for my nature book?" The excited voice from below shook him from his thoughts, and he was quick to redirect his gaze away from the leaf and back down to her. "It won't be too big, will it?"

With a smile, Leo shook his head and gently passed the orange leaf back. "I think it's  _ perfect _ for your nature book, Aly. But it's not green, anymore, which means it'll dry out and crack easier. I would be gentle with it, if you want to make sure it doesn't break before you put it in your book."

Taking the leaf between her own fingers, she looked at it with wide eyes, the wonder behind them something that couldn't be mimicked or contained. It was genuine enthusiasm from someone who was eager to learn, and it was his favorite part of teaching children so young. The world hadn't taken the wonder away from them, yet. "Whoa. Thanks, Mr. Radcliffe!"

He put his hands in his pockets and watched her run off again to gather anything else she needed, his expression soft and warm like the autumn sunlight. It was only the beginning of what he was sure was going to be another great school year, when the most he would have to give up was a few extra hours of his week to be there if someone had questions. The most dangerous place he'd go was the field or the lunch room, during work, and the bar for his usual Thursday night outings.

**(** _ the leaf did turn out to be perfect for Aly's nature book, and it had been pressed in a way that meant it only cracked in two places but otherwise stayed in one place. between that and the student who had dried a slice of a local berry, it was his favorite batch of the project to grade. but he thought every year was his new favorite batch, each new class somehow bringing something new and interesting to his attention that he had never considered. _

_ each new class was made up of scientists and artists and teachers and writers of the next generation, and he could see the signs of each, if he looked close enough. in one nature book, the pages were crumpled to look like a worn and used field journal, with drawings of more examples of the same plant around the notes taken. he wasn't sure what category they fit into, whether they would go into science or art or teaching or all three, but the potential was there, just like it was in every student he had, to become anything they dreamed of being. whether that meant one area of work or many wasn't his to decide.  _ **)**

**(** _ "art and science have their meeting in method." _

_ "oh, do not go quoting bloody Bulwer-Lytton at me."  _ **)**

If there was one thing he learned, repeatedly, every year of teaching, it was the give and the take. If he stayed late one afternoon a week and left his door open so that anyone could come in and ask for help, students got higher grades on tests and homework. When they got higher grades, they were more enthusiastic about speaking up in class and asking questions. They got excited, and they  _ learned  _ when they were in the classroom instead of just going through the motions. They learned, and he helped put these brilliant human beings into the world, whether they used their inner genius to follow their dreams or some other form of success.

During the beginning of each term, he didn't get as many students coming in on his free periods or after school. They were barely able to tell if they needed the extra help, let alone comfortable enough to seek him out and ask for it. He was the teacher who was fun in class but unapproachable to those who hadn't learned from him, yet. Between the unfamiliar accent and the fact that he was still fairly new to the area, no one knew what to expect if they hadn't experienced it first hand.

By the end of the term, he'd helped the students who needed it and they were able to take the information and run with it. He helped with the basics or whatever unit they'd been struggling to understand, and they didn't need any help to grow beyond that. They were young, but they were still people, learning to be self-sufficient and fend for themselves before high school, before they had to face the world.

It was during the  _ middle _ of each term that he was giving out the most help.

Sometimes, it was as simple as going over a few abbreviations and terms until the memorization sank in. Sometimes, it could be as much as reteaching an entire unit in a different way so that it was easier to understand. He didn't regret the time he took out of his day, not for his students, not when it meant he got to watch them  _ pass _ his class at the end of the year and go on to do even better once they left his classroom.

On rare occasions, the extra help meant printing out worksheets for extra practice, or full packets for the physics unit if it was the equations tripping someone up. None of it was all that difficult, not when his oldest students were fourteen and only just beginning to explore what they were good at and what they enjoyed. But that was his  _ own _ brain that said it wasn't difficult, not the brains that were still so new to the concepts and the ideas. His own genius had no bearing on the information he taught except for how it came across. If someone had trouble with it, he needed to figure out a way to make it easier for them.

He'd stopped being a scientist the minute he left SHIELD, when he changed his name and dropped his title. Since starting his new position, he was a translator. He didn't create things, not unless that was the only way to give the knowledge to the next generation of wouldbe scientists and creators. And it was far more  _ fun _ to translate than to create, especially when the people he was translating everything to were so  _ excited _ about it.

It wasn't often that he had a group of students who needed the same kind of help, but it almost felt like having an extra class at the end of the day, like an extension of the part of his life he enjoyed the most. Passing out the small collection of packets, Leo moved back to the front of the classroom and looked between the cluster of kids who had settled at the nearest table. They all had permission from their families to stay a little late, arrangements to get rides home after their review was complete, and he really did treat it as an extra class. They had a schedule and a plan for how to get through what they needed to cover and the time to get through everything.

"We're going to start on page  _ three _ of the packet, and the first two pages will be for your review at home, so you can keep practicing. I'm going to go over the states of matter again, which I know you're all familiar with, but it's never bad to have a little bit of a refresher before learning something new." Turning to face the board, he wrote the three words in clear lettering, the green pen standing out against the white surface. "Who knows some of the properties of  _ solids?" _

All four hands shot up quickly, and he felt a smile pull at his lips while he continued to ask questions and take notes on the board. Just the review seemed to be enough to get all of the kids to open up a bit more, to ask the questions they each needed to ask in order to understand what had stumped them to begin with. He could watch the wonder return to their eyes when it all clicked together, could feel the happiness return to his own chest while he took part in that wonder. There was no better feeling than the one that came with the reward of making a difference in someone's life. Even if that difference was as simple as helping a few preteens understand scientific properties.

-

**(** _he came to terms with the fact that reality and illusion were so intertwined that sometimes it would be hard to tell the difference. it took longer to realize that his own mind was the thing that created the things that were hardest to differentiate between. when illusion and reality melded, in the beginning, it was in the form of nightmares, and memories that played out wrong, and fear that crept up into his throat until it was hard to breathe._ **)**

He had time to watch through plenty of security footage in the quiet of the lab, avoiding the file with his own name as the label. There was so much to review and take notes on, on the off chance that LMDs were ever an issue again, and it was nearing midnight when he finished the video he'd been working through. Closing the window on his screen, Fitz let out a slow breath and turned his gaze down to the notebook he'd taken out for notes. Physically writing his thoughts down on paper had been a way to keep himself from fidgeting, kept his fingers from drifting to the inside of his wrist and scratching at the sensitive skin.

Ever since he'd watched the footage of his own LMD for the first time, there had been a nagging in his gut. He wanted to scratch at every phantom feeling on the inside of his arms, wanted to run his thumb over his skin to feel  _ some _ kind of sensation. It was probably a sign that he wasn't at all okay after what he'd seen, but there wasn't much he could do about it when he was stuck in the lab watching footage. He couldn't even go back to his bunk and sleep soundly, not when he only saw one thing whenever he closed his eyes.

**(** _ "if you're the lmd, i'll see your substructure and i'll know. and if not..." _

_ "if you're wrong, you're the lmd, and you've just convinced me to slit my wrists!"  _ **)**

Fitz had to take a deep breath, trying to push the memory and the images to the back of his mind. For a little while, he had to focus on the task at hand. He had to scribble down his observations from the video of May's LMD, and he had to figure out what to watch next, and the idea of sleep was more terrifying than trying to stay awake all night and sustain himself with tea. At least, if he was awake, he could consciously keep his mind on where he needed it to be instead of it drifting against his will.

If it drifted, he knew exactly where it would end up, and that was what he was trying to forget about. Forgetting that it happened was his only option, or else he would have to acknowledge it, and he definitely didn't want to do that. He didn't want to acknowledge that something like that could even happen, that those words could even be said between the two of them.

They were supposed to be  _ Fitzsimmons, _ inseparable, this powerful duo in science and in life. If their dynamic could fall apart so easily, then he didn't know what would come of the future. They'd been Fitzsimmons for so long, and the future they'd imagined together required them to  _ stay _ that power couple, that unstoppable force, that immovable object. Their future together was supposed to be steady and stable, not shaken up and turned upside down and completely mixed up. 

The words that played through his head on a loop made him wonder if all of those years spent as  _ Fitzsimmons _ were worth it.

Was his first and only friend for so long one of the sacrifices that came with his work? Or was what they had something they could salvage and carry forward?

**(** _"if you're wrong, you're the lmd, and you've just convinced me to-"_ **)**

_ Stop. _

He was letting his thoughts drift too much again, bringing up those images he needed to keep buried until he was done with what he needed to get through. He still had hours of footage to watch for each LMD, and he had the extra assignment from Coulson to finish, and he really should make sure every piece of every robot had been fully destroyed. There was no  _ time _ to let his thoughts linger on everything else he needed to understand between  _ that _ and whatever the other files implied.

It was too much.

Fitz took a shaky breath and set his pen down, his hand moving to the inside of his other arm to scratch at the skin there anxiously. Whatever his spiraling thoughts wanted him to believe, there was logic he could cling to.  _ Fitzsimmons _ was an inseparable duo, the perfect team, and breaking up that dynamic because of one incident that he wasn't even  _ present _ for was ridiculous. They had too much history, too much of a future, and he wouldn't ruin that, not when she had been so  _ happy.  _ A little bit of discomfort was worth it, in the long run, if it meant getting to see his favorite smile on Jemma's face.

**(** _ and, if that little bit of discomfort turned into more than that, into nightmares and cold sweats and the inability to sleep with her in his arms, that was something he could work around. some private space just to get some rest every night was an accommodation he could make. they'd been together for too long to tear that apart.  _

_ maybe there were days when his head reminded him of his framework life more than reality, when the doctor was especially loud, when he saw the tools on the other side of the lab and itched to scratch at his arms with more than just his blunt nails. but those were his problems to deal with, no one else's. that was his own battle between reality and illusion that he would never inflict on anyone else.  _ **)**

-

When Leo moved into the flat, he arranged things so that he would have easy access to things on his bad days. There was a first aid kit with bandages under the kitchen sink, another one in the cabinet above the sink in the bathroom, and a third tucked away under his bed, just in case. After his trip to Scotland and the slip up he'd made in his self control almost as soon as his flight landed on the States' west coast, he'd learned to keep things on hand.

His first flat in the area had been smaller, while he waited for a few deposits to hit his account and the name change to finalize. That was where almost every slip up had occurred. That was the space where he had to keep the sharp objects in one drawer in the kitchen, so he could limit his access to them on the days when he was too emotionally drained to get out of bed. It worked, sometimes, but not every day, not when the urges were stronger than his exhaustion.

It wasn't until he was in the second flat, the one he stayed in, that he even considered talking to someone like Craig.

Even if it was only for an hour a week, he was able to talk about the things going on in his head. He could talk about his family, and the job he'd left behind, and the ache in his chest, and the voice in his head, and the itch under his scarred and scabbing skin. The lapses in control didn't stop, but they were less frequent, and when he was stable enough to go through the steps of getting certified, he got his job at the school.

**(** _ he hated calling it self harm, even if Craig insisted he needed to acknowledge that was what he was doing. harming himself. it didn't feel all that harmful in the moment. he'd certainly had worse injuries, was still dealing with worse. a few scrapes and a little blood was just a normal aspect of his life, by then.  _ **)**

There were a lot of things he had to work through that he hadn't even realized were issues, before those weekly talks. They made him realize that his self harm didn't begin and end with cutting into his skin, but extended to the invisible things, too - showers that were just a little too hot and left his skin red and patchy, the food that sat in his fridge uneaten even when he was hungry and couldn't muster up the energy to get off the couch, the late nights spent awake until the sun began to rise. Taking care of himself was something that Leo had stopped doing when he left SHIELD. It wasn't on purpose, he just didn't have a  _ reason _ to make sure he was in his best possible shape.

He didn't have any missions to be prepared for. He didn't have a girlfriend to appreciate his body. He didn't have his mother fussing over him to make sure he ate enough. His curls grew out until the voice in the back of his head pointed out that he had to push them out of his eyes a little too frequently. There wasn't a reason to keep an eye on every aspect of his life, so he simply stopped doing it.

**(** _ "but there is someone in your life that's worth taking care of yourself for." _

_ Craig said the same thing every week. he tried to help him find that person, that reason, in every session. eventually, Leo got fed up with trying to figure out what the vague words meant, though he didn't necessarily mean to get frustrated. he would blame that on the doctor, if he didn't know, deep down, that it would be a lie. _

_ "and who would that be? because it sounds like you know someone i don't." _

_ "yourself, of course."  _ **)**

Taking care of himself  _ for _ himself was easier said than done, when he'd gotten so used to the routine he'd fallen into. He didn't even realize how  _ good _ it could feel to take care of himself without the consideration of some kind of scrutiny. Drinking enough water during the day kept him feeling refreshed instead of irritable. Taking a shower every morning made him feel clean and ready to face the day. Cleaning up the things that had ended up on the floor made the entire flat seem less daunting. Even just going for a walk on his days off and getting fresh air in his lungs made breathing feel so much easier.

The last time he'd felt so physically  _ good _ was at SciOps, certainly before the drop into the ocean his first year in the field. It was before he was so consumed with anxiety that he almost constantly felt ill. It was a miracle he'd made it through all those months without throwing up anywhere on the Bus.

But here, in his new life, taking care of his body as much as he could while navigating the emotions raging inside of him, he actually felt like himself. For the first time, in so long, his skin felt like a part of him, instead of a prison he had to break through and escape from.

-

"Fitz, I'm having Daisy break the encryption on Radcliffe's harddrive. She'll forward the files to you, when she's done, and I need you to look through it all for anything we don't already know."

The words made him lift his head, tearing his eyes away from the paused security feed already pulled up on his computer screen. When he looked over at Coulson in the lab doorway, he was sure the confusion was clear in his eyes. It was one thing to sort through hours of feeds to analyze what was there, that made sense in terms of atoning for the part he played in creating the threat, but adding an entire drive of files to that to do list seemed a little bit...  _ harsh.  _ He'd done horrible things, contributed to others, but it was inhumane to expect him to do that much work without much of a break.

"Sir...? I don't know if I'm going to have the time to go through all of that, if I'm watching-"

"You knew him better than anyone else here." It was hard to argue with the words and the tone, especially when he'd already been working for hours. He didn't have it in him to try to argue with the logic behind the decision - the  _ order,  _ really, considering the rapid restructuring they'd had to do within SHIELD. The Framework may have been fake, but his actions inside it had a lot of  _ real _ consequences. "You're more likely to pick up on the things that the rest of us would miss or ignore."

Fitz let his shoulders sag while his eyes squeezed shut, pinching the bridge of his nose and taking a deep breath. If he was already going to be busy for weeks, then he might as well add to it. Staying busy would keep him out of his head for at least part of every day. Maybe it would be a good thing. "Yeah, okay... just let me know when she's done with the encryption, and I'll start working on it."

There was a beat of quiet before the soft sigh from the doorway reached his ears. "She won't even start in on it until the morning. It's getting late, Fitz. Try to get some rest."

Letting out a sigh of his own, he shook his head and turned in his chair to get back to work. If he wanted to get any rest over the next month, he needed to make some real progress with the work he'd already been given. His plat was about to get a  _ lot _ fuller. "Rest... during what possible period of time?"

-

Staying in Scotland for a few weeks was really the best idea he'd had. If they really needed him for an emergency, SHIELD could still find him easily, but he had the space to figure out all the aspects of his life that had changed so much in such a short period of time. He could sort through all of his fears and worries without their judgement or constant breathing down his neck.

Certain things he hadn't even discussed with his mother, even when she was technically involved. There was too much SHIELD information tangled up in it, and while he wasn't an agent anymore, spreading top secret information for his own selfish reasons was probably frowned upon. They still had plenty of highly trained agents who could be sent after him, and while answers were important to him, so was keeping his life and his freedom.

If he were to stay with his mother, he knew he would ask questions, would want some kind of explanation even if it was at three in the morning over cold tea. He wouldn't be able to resist that kind of temptation. And he needed to come to terms with it before he had even more to process.

So, instead of staying in his childhood bedroom, in the familiar place he'd crossed the world to see again, Fitz got a room at a hotel in the city. He spent his days with his mother, sharing stories and catching up as much as he could without releasing any classified information, and his nights in a private room, with his phone constantly charged and at his side. If there was an emergency, he needed to be easy to reach, but that wasn't the only reason he'd kept his old number.

Two weeks into his stay in Scotland, he got the call he knew he should have been anticipating.

The voice on the other end of the line was an unfamiliar one, but that didn't matter. As soon as he heard the words the man had to say, he knew exactly what to expect.  _ "I'm calling on behalf of Holden Radcliffe's estate. I'd like to set up a meeting with you, to go over what he's put in his will, whenever you're available. I have an office in Glasgow, or if it's easier, we can speak over video." _

"Perfect, I'm in Glasgow." Fitz spoke quickly, his voice flat and controlled while he fought the urge to pace back and forth over the cheap hotel carpet. "What time this week works best for you?"

**(** _ "i can't do lunch tomorrow. something came up." _

_ "oh, Leo, i thought the point of leaving shield was so that they couldn't call you up out of the blue anymore. you should be enjoying yourself, not working." _

_ "it's not for shield, mum, just connected. i just have to go to this meeting. maybe we can do dinner, instead?" _

_ "fine, but i want to hear all about it." _

_ "i promise, i'll tell you as much as i can."  _ **)**

He stared down at the address in his email for a long moment before lifting his head to look at the numbers on the side of the building to make sure they matched. It seemed like a normal law office, like a place for people in suits to file paperwork and make phone calls. It was hard to believe it was the place that would make him face the truth head on for the first time. 

Slowly, he put his phone away and made himself walk inside, following the receptionist's directions to the office his meeting would be in. If he just got through it and made it to dinner without having too much of an internal crisis, he could call it a victory, and he really needed a victory.

The office he'd been directed to was small but functional, and the man whose name he'd already forgotten was polite. He likely got plenty of practice in his line of work, being polite to the grieving, but Fitz didn't want politeness. Accepting it meant acknowledging that he  _ was _ grieving, and he wasn't sure how ready he was for that, yet.

**(** _ "it's good to meet you in person, dr. Fitz, even if it is under such unfortunate circumstances. i'm sorry for your loss." _

_ "don't apologize. it's not your fault." _

_ it was probably his own, but he didn't like to let his thoughts linger there for very long.  _ **)**

After his time in the Framework, he'd learned to be better at the business side of things. Emotions might not always be a  _ weakness, _ not the way that version of Alistair had tried to convince him they were, but they could be an  _ inconvenience _ at the wrong times. A meeting with the lawyer tasked with going over Radcliffe's final will and testament was almost certainly the wrong time. They had business to attend to, not a friendly chat, so that's what they focused on.

In the end, Fitz had created a list in the notes app on his phone, just to keep it all straight in his head, and for reference. He wouldn't  _ actually _ get most of it until the paperwork was handled, but he hadn't been planning on leaving home again so soon. It worked out, in the way things in the universe only worked out after they had been completely upturned in the first place.

_DC house (and contents)_ _  
__Glasgow flat (and contents)_ _  
__All harddrives and research in his name_ _  
__All devices and projects in his name_ _  
___Contents of all bank accounts

He probably could have just typed the word  _ 'everything' _ into the application, but that seemed too simple. It was too broad of a word that encompassed something false. To say he got  _ everything _ would be disregarding all the things he lost, at the same time.

-

**(** _ "you were like a son to me." _

_ "shut up." _ **)**

The thing about defining his family with blood was that it meant his surviving family consisted of exactly one person.

It meant the list of people he trusted was just as short.

It meant he had to consider how harsh the world really was and how alone it made him feel.

If the team couldn't be considered his family anymore, then he had to consider that even the people who he had been raised to believe were family had to be excluded, too. In truth, he hadn't viewed Alistair as a father for years before the Framework forced him to take such a close look at his life. It was only the circumstances, the situation, that earned him anything close to the title of  _ father,  _ and even then it was a bit of a stretch.

There hadn't been encouragement when it came to science fairs and homework. There hadn't been a seat filled when he walked across the stage to accept his degree. There hadn't been weekends spent talking about life and watching football. There hadn't been well meaning if somewhat drunken love advice. There hadn't been a desperate final attempt to save him from himself. There was no shared blood that meant he would even fit into this new definition of family he'd been forced to create for himself.

Somehow, after whatever twist of fate the universe had spun for him, that title belonged to someone who actually  _ had _ done a few things on that list. And, through his denial, through all of the trials that it took to get there, maybe he was learning to accept that the proof in front of him was all he was going to get.

Unfortunately, that definition of family, between blood and showing up, didn't mean anything when someone was no longer around. And when he accepted that, that pillar, the one that had been cracked and starting to crumble even before he walked away, suddenly fell to ruin.

**(** _ "tell me the truth." _

_"you were like a son to me."_ **)**

-

After staying up for the whole of the night, watching through footage in clips that lasted barely a minute or two at a time, Fitz didn't even realize it was morning until he got the notification on the screen. The little pop up was the indication that the contents of the unencrypted harddrive had been transferred to his system, that all of the files that had once only existed on Radcliffe's computer now only existed on his own. Or, his own  _ SHIELD owned _ computer, but close enough.

He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, trying to ignore the exhausted ache that had settled deep in his bones at some point in the night, and took a deep breath. There weren't many videos left to go through, and he was doing his best to put off watching them for as long as possible. The files would be a decent distraction.

Fitz finished scribbling his thoughts down on the notebook in front of him before closing out of the video entirely. He made sure to make note of where he'd left off before clearing the screen of any distractions, and he only let himself hesitate for a moment before opening the files that had been sent to him. When folders started to pop up on the screen, he sighed and sank back in his seat, ready to wait somewhat impatiently for the process to finish, and then the name of one of the windows caught his eye.

_ LeopoldJFitz _

Sitting up straight again, he reached for the mouse to pull it to the front of the still loading folders. Within it, there were more folders labeled with years or the names of schools he'd attended, even one marked  _ SHIELD.  _ The only thing newer than that was a single file, created only two weeks after he and Jemma had returned from their spontaneous trip to the Seychelles, labeled with the date and a single word.  _ Confirmation. _

He moved slowly, opening the file as if there was the possibility that whatever was inside could jump out and bite him. Actually, considering who the drive once belonged to, that wasn't entirely impossible, but still not likely. When it opened, taking up the entire screen, it took him a few moments to realize what he was looking at.

Side by side, the two DNA profiles meant almost nothing at first glance. Structurally, all DNA had similarities, and at first, that was all he saw while the rest of the program loaded. When the automated system started to show the markers where things were close if not completely identical, and the names above both started to register in his exhausted mind, it all clicked together.

Fitz closed the window as quickly as it had opened, his fingers trembling while he stared at the still open folder on the screen. His name in the corner seemed too clear, like the pixels had been arranged too perfectly to be real. Because, if it was real, that would mean something he couldn't face, couldn't put into words when all of the memories from within the Framework seemed too real. He needed reality to slow down so that he could sort out the illusion, and if anyone else in SHIELD saw those files, it would only keep moving too fast for him to handle.

He didn't have to think about the action before pulling open the drawer next to him and pulling out one of the spare flash drives there. Plugging it into the computer, he dragged the folder onto it, hit the button to safely eject, and then  _ delete. _

Then, the file that had existed only on Holden Radcliffe's computer, and then only his, the file that contained the truth, only existed where cold metal met his palm.

**(** _ the drive that held the truth went with him when he left, tucked safely between two of his sweaters so that there was no danger of it being bumped and damaged even if the bag got thrown around, right next to the stupid handmade card and the chipped monkey magnet he'd taken when shield did their sweep but never handed over. and, if he happened to transfer a few other things onto it before it ended up there, shield didn't have to know.  _ **)**

-

The first stop he made upon leaving Scotland wasn't the west coast at all. Instead, he was practically right on top of the SHIELD base he'd run from, letting himself into the familiar house with the key that had been given to him by a lawyer. It wasn't the best circumstances, and a part of him didn't want to be there at all, but he didn't want to  _ keep _ the house, either.

If he did, and he chose to live there, it would be far too close to everything he was trying to stay away from. SHIELD would be literally around the corner, the memories that lived in the very living room he was walking into would be too clear, and he certainly wouldn't get the time and space he needed to process his  _ grief, _ if there ever came a time when it hit. Selling the house was the only real option he had, but that meant cleaning it up. It meant removing all of the things that had almost made it feel like a home.

Fitz took a deep breath before setting the one box he'd brought along on the cushion of the couch. He didn't have to  _ clear _ the house, and he already had a crew coming later in the week to make sure the lab was disassembled and put into storage; he just had to find the things he wanted to keep and take with him into his new life. Getting started was easy enough when some of his own things were already there - a box of his favorite tea in the kitchen cabinet, a couple left behind shirts in the drawer in the spare bedroom, a bag of shortbread cookies that had been special ordered when he admitted to missing home. The things that were already his were put into the box with no question, but when it still seemed so empty, he found himself frozen.

A part of him wanted to take the memories, but those couldn't be packed away neatly in cardboard. He couldn't take the couch that he'd always perched on the back of no matter how many times he was scolded. He couldn't take the desk from the lab that probably still had salty fingerprints on it from the night they'd stayed up perfecting Aida's code over bowls of pretzels and crisps. He couldn't take the front door that had been opened and closed so many times that he could tell exactly which direction the hinges were swinging just on the sound alone.

He couldn't take the memories, because they belonged to the house, and all of the things that he had to leave behind.

Funnily enough, there was a time when he wanted nothing to do with the house and everything in it. He'd been willing to leave every evening and go back to the base, to be with Jemma or focus on work if she was busy. There was a time when the building that seemed so warm and safe, even after all that had happened, had felt less like a home than a hotel.

**(** _ the door swung open, and Fitz didn't hesitate before pushing his way into the living room with a small frown. he'd started the day thinking he just had to work on the couch while they turned the game on, do his duty of keeping an eye on the scientist still on probation, and then he would be able to go back to the base in a matter of hours. that was not how his day played out. instead, he'd been dragged out on an 'adventure' to a nearby park when the game they were supposed to watch was cancelled for weather. _

_ that adventure consisted of a long walk, a stop for ice cream, and a little bit more bird watching than he'd thought could be involved in anything. _

_ while the drive to and from the park was short, and really not that miserable, he took every chance he had to complain about it. he complained about turns that were taken too quickly. he complained about walking too slow. he complained when his ice cream was too cold and it hurt his tooth. he complained when a bird tried to peck at his shoe. he complained when the drive back to the house took too long because of traffic. he'd complained right up to the door and through it, grumbling while he shuffled toward the kitchen. _

_ "ice cream is not a decent lunch. i'm starving, where are your snacks?" _

_ the space was still new and unfamiliar, the cabinets holding things that were still secrets. it didn't take long to find a box of cookies, when he applied logic, and while they didn't add much to his argument about a decent lunch, they were something that might fill his stomach a little more. the complaining only stopped long enough for him to eat, but it was long enough for him to actually relax again, too. for the rest of the afternoon, everything was normal, and even then, he could admit their adventure wasn't that bad.  _ **)**

Looking back, their walk through the park was only a few days after the date on the  _ confirmation _ file. If he'd actually opened his eyes when it happened, he probably could have figured everything out before it was too late. Even without the truth as a factor, he regretted most of what he said while they were out. If he had the chance to go back and redo it, he wouldn't have complained about a single thing that happened in that afternoon.

He would have held onto every moment before he lost it. 

-

After moving into his first small flat on the opposite coast from where so much of his life had been lived, he filled out the paperwork to change almost every aspect of his name. His first name would stay, if only so that he didn't have to get used to responding to something completely different, but every other piece of it was thrown out. There were too many memories tied to all of it, things he would rather forget.

He started with his last name. Facing the reality that he wasn't related to Alistair meant doing away with it. He didn't owe that man anything, not even the basest association. And, after the Framework, he didn't  _ want _ anything to do with him, let alone a connection like that. Reclaiming his identity started with rejecting the things that were connected to his old life, and thirty years of being Alistair Fitz's son was decades too many. His new life wouldn't have a single ounce of him in it, and that included his name.

Whenever he thought about that for too long, his thoughts usually drifted to the Framework.  _ The Doctor _ was still very much a part of him, he couldn't deny that even if he wanted to. He still had the errant violent thoughts, the things he knew were an instinctive reaction based on the life that part of him had lived, and they weren't going to just stop out of nowhere, even with a major change. But he could push that part of him away, ignore it like he was trying to do with the rest of his past.

The title was too tied to that part of his past, to the version of him who did so many horrible things. If he was going to start over, he had to find a way to put that piece of him  _ behind  _ him, and that could only happen if he let it go. Dropping his title was the first step in doing that. Dr. Leopold Fitz was officially the label for his past, and his future could be something of his own making.

**(** _ "Leo, dear, i just don't understand why you want to get rid of your middle name. it was the closest i could get to naming you after your father." _

_ "mum, let me explain what i want to change it to before you start questioning it." _

_ "i think James is a perfectly good middle name. it was good enough for Holden for his whole life, wasn't it?" _

_ "what if i don't want to keep my middle name? what if i want to keep him in my name in a different way? you said you always wanted to name me after him, but because of Alistair, it was too risky." _

_ "that doesn't mean i didn't love you and your name all the same. but fine, alright, what did you want to change it to?" _

_ "i was thinking about changing it to Holden."  _ **)**

-

The drink in front of him had barely been touched, but to be fair it was his second bottle and he had more important things to worry about. Next to him, Thomas was doing his usual retelling of something that had happened during his week, his hands flying haphazardly while he grew more animated with his tale. If he was going to tell his story, he'd rather get the show along with it, especially when it got just a little bit ridiculous.

"And then I said to him,  _ you feeling lucky, punk?" _

Leo let out a laugh, shaking his head while he sipped from his beer bottle again. "You know, one of these days, I'm going to stop you from pretending like action movies are actually stories from your own life. It's only going to be endearing for so long."

With a less than sober chuckle, his drinking companion shook his head and twisted to face him. "You know, Fitzy, your life would probably be less miserable if you let the rest of us have a little fun. And, for the record, I  _ did _ say that. Quoting movies on the job is something that happens regularly. You don't do that?"

"Tommy, I teach eleven and twelve year olds."

"Okay, so, answer something for me." He waited until Leo was meeting his gaze, his voice barely giving away just how much alcohol he'd consumed. Which, to be fair, wasn't a lot. He'd been behaving himself, staying coherent enough that he would be able to handle a crisis, in case of another relapse. "You're a teacher, right? And you were in town for a little while before you got that job? Does SHIELD actually pay  _ that  _ well? Because your apartment is nicer than mine."

The Scotsman scoffed and shook his head, turning his gaze back down to his bottle before he spoke. "Well..."

**(** _ standing in the doorway to the bedroom, he took a deep breath and took in the sight quietly. there wasn't anything entirely unfamiliar in the room, not when he'd worn half of the shirts hanging in the closet on days after he stayed late and fell asleep on the couch. the only thing that wasn't familiar was the emptiness. _

_ any other time he'd stood in that doorway, there had been someone beside him, or in front of him. he wasn't used to being alone in the house at all. there was always a supportive father or attentive robot at his shoulder, and being completely alone, in the quiet, was something that still felt so strange. _

_ slowly, he stepped further inside and didn't let himself hesitate. if he hesitated, he would stop completely, and it was the last room he had to clear of anything that he wanted to keep. he continued to move slowly, grabbing a few of the familiar shirts from the closet and not quite looking at anything else in the room. the box in the living room was getting full, and there was only so much he would be able to fit into it. _

_ when he turned around to leave the room, Fitz stopped walking at the sight of a fabric case in the corner. propped up against the wall, concealed by the corner of the bed, was the guitar case that he'd only seen a handful of times. the instrument only came out after a few drinks, when they'd needed a break from work and the chance to have a little fun, but it was one of the only things in the house that had exactly zero bad memories associated with it. _

_ after a moment, he gave into the urge to walk over and pick it up with his free hand. even if the box of things he was taking was getting full, and the guitar never would have fit in it to begin with, the case came with a handle. he could carry it and take the memories attached to it with him.  _ **)**

"Wait, hold on, let me get this straight, you inherited a whole house, and everything inside it, and the only things you took were a few shirts and a  _ guitar? _ Fitzy..."

"Oh, my god." Leo let out a sigh and shook his head, his smile softer but still present while he tried to make his shoulders relax. Revisiting the past, however briefly it may be just to tell a story and answer a question or two, could hurt no matter how long it had been. "I sold the house, that's the point I'm getting at. I inherited  _ a lot _ of money, and after I sold the house, I had even  _ more _ money. I used it to keep myself afloat while I got settled here."

Thomas let out a sigh of his own, still twisted in the stool while he paid rapt attention. "So, you're... rich. You're filthy fucking rich, and you didn't  _ tell _ me? You're a horrible friend."

Coughing through a laugh, he shook his head and properly relaxed in his seat. Besides the little trip down memory lane, the evening had been fun and easy, and the last thing he wanted to do was give up any of it. "Well, you never asked."

He thought he heard the beginning of a laugh, and when it stopped, he turned his head to try to figure out what had distracted him enough to stop the sound. Before he could follow his friend's gaze, he was cut off and distracted. "I think I yelled about you being rich just a little too loud, because that guy is  _ definitely  _ staring at you. Don't look, that might be weird."

"Tommy, I doubt someone is staring at me. We're sitting  _ at the bar, _ he's probably just trying to look at the bottles but he can't see past your big head."

"Shush. Oh, he's cute. You should look."

"I'm not looking. You're being ridiculous."

"Should I walk you over there? Do you want me to broker an introduction?"

"You need to stop acting like this. Seriously, you're being weird."

"Fitzy, he's hot, and he's staring at you. Go say hi before I do it for you."

"I never thought I'd miss your brother. I'd rather deal with his antics, right now. And his antics got me brain damage."

"No, you don't deserve the hot guy, anymore. You're being mean."

-

Once he got through the idea of taking care of himself  _ for _ himself, instead of for other people, he had more to learn from Craig's little nuggets of wisdom. If his first major piece of advice had such a positive influence, then there was no telling what else could be changed. Maybe, just believing in it was enough to make it work, like some kind of placebo, but if that was the case, he didn't care. He would take whatever emotional healing he could get.

Almost every week, Leo found another positive change in his life. And, on the weeks when he seemed to backslide, he learned to focus on the good things whenever he could. A relapse meant he looked forward to Thursday night that much more. An exhausting week meant he looked forward to his Saturdays, when he could sit in his flat and watch movies and do nothing else at all. Or, when those failed, he thought of his students, and how much he loved teaching, and how much his new life made him  _ happy, _ even if there were people from his old life who would say it shouldn't. 

**(** _ "you have to face the past in order to move forward from it."  _ **)**

**(** _ "there will be hurdles to recovery, Leo. even if you trip up, you're still a long way from where you started out."  _ **)**

**(** _ "it's okay to miss people, even if they hurt you."  _ **)**

**(** _ "you're allowed to grieve even when it feels like there's nothing there to miss. sometimes, those missed opportunities are what can hurt the most." _ **)**

That was the one he held onto, every anniversary and birthday and holiday.

When it came to the life he could have had, if he'd grown up with his father instead of with Alistair, that was a lot of grief he didn't know how to process. It was too confusing, aching over a life he'd never had when he had two that made him ache so much already. There were too many memories, both real and fake, that kept him up at night for him to worry over the ones he would never have. 

But maybe it wasn't as bad as he thought it was, letting himself hurt. He gave up an entire life to chase after something that  _ might _ make him happy, or at least that was what he called it when he didn't want to acknowledge that he was running away. Running from all of it - from the fear that gripped him when he thought about the security footage, from the deep ache that came from the file he'd saved onto a drive and hidden away, from the grief that overcame him any time he opened his closet and saw the guitar case sitting on the floor - had done very little to actually help anything.

Slowly, as gradually as his pillars had crumbled, Leo built them up again, but that required an acknowledgement. He learned to admit that he was broken, to spot where he needed to work on things, to fill the cracks instead of ignoring them. He started to rebuild his family with people he cared about and trusted. His life could stay focused on the job and the things that made him happy, instead of everything that used to put his life at risk. 

**(** _ Dr. Leopold James Fitz had been damaged beyond much hope of repair, and that was okay. instead of fixing him, it was better to pick up the pieces, and build Leopold Holden Alexander Radcliffe from those.  _ **)**


End file.
